


Farewell, My Queen

by cathcacen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Asoiaf - Fandom, a game of thrones - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: F/F, F/M, jon snow x sansa stark - Freeform, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 06:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcacen/pseuds/cathcacen
Summary: Sansa hears the news of Margaery’s death; Jon comes to check on her.





	Farewell, My Queen

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she’s thought of her friend, the Queen in the South. But today, all her thoughts are with Margaery, the rose. The kindness and the lemoncakes, the charm and the wit, the cleverness and the observant nature. She was sly, and she knew how people thought, how they acted. She knew how people perceived her, and worked that to her full advantage.

The people had loved her.

But she was dead, and buried in rubble without body nor grave.

Alone in the tower where the ravens come to roost, Sansa thinks of her friend. She thinks of the way Margaery’s hands were always warm, slender fingers wrapped about her wrist, pulling her always to the gardens for tea.

Before her, King’s Landing had been nothing but anxious prayers whispered in the dead of the night, the weight of steel in her stomach each time Joffrey so much as looked her way, and the pinpricks of a thousand rusty needles in her throat with each cutting remark from the Queen Mother. King’s Landing had been her dream, and just as well, had been her doom.

Then Margaery had arrived, all gold and glittering. Perhaps it was a trait of her house; she’d always smelt of flowers, roses and lilies and geraniums, tempered with honey and orange. She said the things Sansa thought, bold and daring in all her cunning. With riches and beauty, she was untouchable. She was everything Sansa wished she could’ve been in her childhood, a lovely Southron lady with all the tools to charm and hold a court to her breast.

Sansa wonders if Margaery ever believed she’d killed her husband. She wonders if Margaery had ever blamed her, for stealing her King, her crown.

_She’d gotten a crown, anyway._ Her mind insists. _But it is a hollow thing, and she died for it. What good is such a crown?_

Her mind wanders to Jon. A Targeryen, now, but they’d crowned him King in the North all the same, and maintained it, after. And though he does not wear a crown formally crafted by the smiths, he suffers the weight of it all the same. She thinks of how safe she feels, here, in the North, far from the golden clutches of the Lannisters. She thinks they must be cursed, the red lions with their gold and their promises, because for all the pride they take in paying their debts, their family has fallen to ruin. There are no more little lions, no more stags.

But the wolves have come again.

Silent as the grave, red eyes watching her, the wolf pads to her side. She hadn’t seen him coming, but he was never one to show up when he wasn’t wanted, or needed. She knelt by the floor, skirts rustling amongst fallen feathers, and reached to stroke the pure-white fur.

“Hello, Ghost.” She says.

“I’m beginning to wonder if he likes you better than he does me.” Jon quirks a faint sort of smile from where he stands, just by the winding stairs. She glances up at him, meets his dark eyes, and lets out a chuckle. “Have you had a raven, also?”

She straightens, making her way to his side. Ghost follows after her, and Jon lays a hand upon the wolf’s head. “Cersei is the Queen.” She says. “Margaery is dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jon says. She notes the slight edge of concern in his gaze. “I know you have no love for the Lannisters, but the Tyrells were kind to you.”

“They were.” Sansa admits. “She took my crown, and took my suffering with it.”

Jon nods. “Do you think that could have been you? If you’d stayed, and played the game with them, do you think you would’ve been in the Sept?”

Sansa thinks of Loras. She thinks that Margaery would’ve done anything for him. Whatever feelings the Queen might, or might not have felt for both Joffrey and Tommen, Sansa knew she loved Loras best. He was her family, after all. She looks at Jon, and thinks if she would have done the same, if he were taken from her.

“Yes.” She tells him. “I would have fought for you, had the Sparrows taken you. Burned with you, after, too. For Robb, for Arya, for Bran and Rickon, too, if I’d had the chance.”

She thinks she sees the ghost of a smile flicker across Jon’s face. He was always sombre, Jon, and the gods knew he tried to hide his worries from her. For months, he’d pleaded with her to take the title back.

“You should be the Queen. You are a Stark.” He’d said.

“So are you, cousin.” She’d replied.

He takes her hand now. She squeezes, gently, and looks up at him. Stranger’s eyes, her mother had said. She saw only Jon. Her blood, her family. “I’ll never let them take you again, Sansa. Just as I’ll never let them take me from you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She reminds him, gently.

He nods. “We’re wolves. You’ve said it enough. We stay together.”

She allows herself to believe him. _It’s Jon,_ she thinks. _He would never hurt me._

* * *

It takes months, and close to a year for them to confess their desires. Then, on a cold winter night, with snow as thick as keep walls and frost on trees and glass, he crowns her the Queen in the North. He gives her a crown, and for the first time in a long time, Sansa speaks to the gods. She thanks them for Margaery Tyrell, who, in taking the Lannister-promised crowns, saved her from a fiery hell. She thanks them for delivering her into the hands of this prince, who is brave, and gentle, and strong.

And, as Jon reaches for her hand, she takes it, and dares herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he might be the one to protect her, and all she loved.


End file.
